Christmas in New York
by Xzeihoranth
Summary: Another silly little Christmas short. Minor Nero Wolfe references. Booker starts his new job while his daughter goes to France.


Saul had just finished setting up the Christmas tree (plastic, of course; his daughter had made him very aware of her views on the matter: that it was simply wasteful to cut down an evergreen and throw it to the curb a month later) when there came a series of knocks at the door. He knew those knocks. "Door's open," he called as he brushed pine needles off his shirt. Fine welcome-home-present that would be...

Elizabeth threw her luggage in a slapdash pile by the front door and with a heart-stirring cry of 'Booker!', she ran into his open arms. He hugged her fiercely and was pleasantly surprised to feel just how tightly she hugged him back. Everything felt different, new, invigorating, yet still somehow _her_. "So how was Paris?" he asked into her shoulder after a time. She pulled back and he knew what she was going to say by the starry smile she gave him.

"Oh, it was _wonderful_!" she gushed, and began rattling off landmark after landmark after landmark...

"And is this the height of Parisian fashion?" he managed to interject, raising an eyebrow at her new outfit. White blouse, fascinatingly curly hair, knee-length black skirt with a white hem and...were those _stockings_?

"Actually, this came highly recommended by a girl I met there. I think you might know each other; her name's Elizabeth...?" she said, lips curled in a sardonic smile.

"Oh really? Just how many of you were there?" Saul asked. She slipped an arm through his and they walked slowly around his newly-furnished apartment as they talked.

"Only about a half dozen. You have to remember, this is years after Columbia, so most of them have already been. It's still a weak point in time and space, at least until..." Her voice trailed off.

"Until what?" Saul/Booker prompted her.

"It doesn't matter. I brought you a present though!" Elizabeth said as they passed her luggage. She knelt down and rummaged through a handbag he was quite sure she hadn't had before she left, then held up a large carefully-wrapped package.

"Thanks! I, uh, I haven't gotten around to wrappin' yours yet..." he said. The anxious look that crossed his face made his daughter laugh. She sprang up and planted a loving kiss on his cheek.

"It's the thought that counts, Booker! Or should I say 'Mr. Panzer'?"

"Y' can still call me Booker, but only when we're alone. Bad enough I'm workin' in the same city I used to live in. Least all the folks I used to know've moved on, in one way or another." he said.

They were quiet for a while; moving her luggage to her room; fixing her a glass of milk, which provoked uncontrollable laughter from both parties when she finished it so quickly that it left a large white mustache on her upper lip; and decorating the tree. Booker grumbled about the lights, which always managed to tie themselves into knots no matter how carefully they'd been packed away the year before, but the sight of his daughter standing on the tips of her toes (and very expensive-looking new shoes) in an attempt to place the holiday-themed statue of Songbird on its traditional place at the top of the tree brought a broad smile back to his face. He crept up quietly behind her and was about to try and startle her when she said dryly, "If you've finished practicing your day job of tailing miscreants and ne'er-do-wells, I could use your help." He sighed dramatically and hoisted Elizabeth bodily into the air, provoking a yelp of surprise. Once she'd grown accustomed to her new, albeit temporary, height, she leaned forward and seated Songbird on his arboreal throne. "Done. Now don't you dare..." she began, but broke off into a fit of loud giggling when her father started tickling her.

The tickling lasted for a good five minutes, during which many pleas for mercy were made and subsequently ignored. Elizabeth's lovely new blouse became rather wrinkled as a result of the vigorous and delightful torture Booker put her through. Finally, Booker released her and collapsed onto a nearby chair, very contented with his new lot in life. His boss paid well, his assistant and professional irritant Archie a surprisingly pleasant fellow to be around, and his daughter was back from her whirlwind trip to France and struggling to catch her breath on the sofa not far away. Soon, she came over to give him another hug. "Happy Christmas, dad." she whispered.

"Happy Christmas to you too." he whispered back.

Late that evening, when Elizabeth had retired to bed and Booker snoozed peacefully on the chair where she'd left him, someone left a new ornament upon the tree: a picture of two redhaired scientists smiling almost pleasantly at the camera. It was signed Lutece, although they'd taken the liberty of turning the Ls into large bushy mustaches on their partners' face...


End file.
